


Yes, No, Maybe

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family Planning, Kink Negotiation, Polyamory Negotiations, Weddings, implied Magnus/Avi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Julia and Magnus talk about exactly what they want, and plan their future.(She's always wanted him to be happy.)





	Yes, No, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> As the title implies, they exchange some 'yes, no, maybe' lists and the following kinks are mentioned: frottage, pegging, sounding, watersports, breathplay, plus some implied femdom. I didn't actually put those in the tags because it's only discussed, never actually done or made explicit and I don't want to disappoint anyone seeking that content, but feel free to turn back if any of those are squicks. There is also some family planning, but no actual pregnancy or babies.
> 
> Also, thank you [placentalmammal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal) for bringing up sex on a jet ski. :P

Magnus twists the pen in his hand, tongue bit between his teeth. He stares more intently at the words on the page, as if somehow they’ll jigsaw their way into something he can understand.

It’s actually very clearly written— Julia has beautiful handwriting, and he imagines each stroke of her pen like a caress on the once-white paper, now somewhat crumpled and with a brown tea-ring from his lunch— and each letter is absolutely legible, but the definitions are beyond him. And he has a gut-twisting suspicion that trying to look up ‘frottage,’ ‘pegging,’ or ‘sounding’ in the Raven’s Roost public library will earn him immediate censure from the librarian. Three columns, labeled _yes, no, maybe_ , are next to each word.

He sighs. Rather than guess, he puts question marks next to each unfamiliar word. He’s already behind on his current commission, and needs to sand the inlay.

. . .

Julia sits across from him, spoon chiming as she stirs honey into her tea. Her knee bumps his under the table, sends his heart thumping up into his throat— wildly, he feels like a guest in his own home, his tongue tied in knots. Easier to focus on the beauty of her presence than his own anxiety; to admire the warm brown of her skin, the small snub to her nose, the tight curls of her hair. The warm scent of lavender in her tea.

She passes him her own list— oh good, she said _yes_ to kissing— but the paper rattles in his hands as he shakes.

“Magnus, calm down,” she says, soft and gentle, but it might as well be a command with the way his knees melt and his breathing slows. Julia smiles, fine lines crinkling around her eyes. “We won’t jump into anything you’re not ready for. We’re just going to read through our lists, okay?”

He nods. If he tries speaking, he’s probably going to puke butterflies. Or frogs. Or snails. Or possibly his lungs.

Magnus focuses on her list. There are a lot more ‘yes’ marks than he put on his own list, but then again, he’s still not sure what most of these mean. One of her ‘no’ checks was ‘breath play,’ but while he knows what each word means _individually,_ he’s not entirely sure he knows what they mean together.

(Then again, she said ‘no,’ so does that matter?)

“There are a lot of question marks on this,” she says.

Magnus unsticks his tongue. “I didn’t know what most of it meant.” He fidgets, toes digging into the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just means we should talk it out.” She _smiles_ and it lights up her face like some kind of magic, and Magnus heart beats a wild drumline against his ribs. He knew he liked this woman, wanted to kiss her, wanted— wanted to carve magnificent chairs in her honor or polish elaborate inlays, the same way a poet might write sonnets for their beloved, and he thinks she might just _understand_ enough to get that it’s not meant as some kind of joke, but a true and sincere gesture of affection— but he knows now he wants to _do_ better, _be_ better for this woman.

(He’s not sure just what that means, and the thought terrifies him.)

“So. Why don’t you ask, and I’ll answer as best I can?”

“Uh.” Magnus sneaks a look at one of her ‘maybes.’ “Sounding?”

She sips her tea, and from the way her brows knit he thinks she’s buying time. Uh oh. “Sounding is inserting something into the urethra.” At his blank look, she clarifies. “The pee-hole.”

Magnus can’t help wincing, immediately shaking his head. “No! No. Not my thing.”

She smiles wryly. “I didn’t think so.” Julia checks ‘no’ on that one. “Trust me. If you don’t like something, I’m not going to tease you about it. Or if you do like something, well…” She leans forward, foot brushing his under the table. “I’m still not going to tease you about it.”

Magnus winces again. “I’m sorry. I saw that was a ‘maybe,’ I didn’t mean to…”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t want it done on me, but if you wanted it? I’d have learned.” Julia looks at the page again. “Okay, I have to ask, though— ‘yes’ to watersports?”

“Yeah! I love throwing water balloons, swimming, fantasy jet-skis, all that stuff!”

A long pause.

“Magnus, I meant— I like those too, but in this context? I meant ‘watersports’ for urine play.” She takes a breath. “As in, one partner urinating on the other.”

It doesn’t elicit the same visceral flinch as ‘sounding,’ but he crinkles his nose. “Oh. That’s not— oh. Okay, maybe. If you wanted it.” He chews his lip, reading through the list. That was a ‘maybe’ for her as well, but he mentally adds ‘sex on a jet-ski’ as his own definite ‘yes.’ “Okay. What’s pegging?”

“Pegging is when a lady wears a strap-on to fuck a gentleman in the ass.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

He blushes furiously, though enough blood still manages to stir its way down to get a semi-hardon. Her smile widens, and he _knows_ she knows, and that was one of her ‘yeses’, so…

“That sounds— great, really! Great!” Magnus squeaks. He coughs, trying to coax it to something more dignified. “Uh. You are _definitely_ a lady, so I’ll… try my best to be a gentleman, then?”

He knows it’s incredibly weak, but she laughs like a pour of sunshine, and he knows he might screw up, he might not know all the things she wants him to know, that there’s still a lot of learning and exploring and yes, kissing and pegging and more kissing ahead of them, but as long as he tries his best and she’s willing to laugh and play and tease, then there’s hope.

. . .

Magnus breathes in. Out. Lets his breath rattle his lungs, his heart shatter his ribs. Watches their shadows jump against the wall, outlined by flickering candle-flame.

Julia squeezes his hand.

His breath stills. His heart slows.

Calm comes quiet. 

“He’s a tyrant, Julia.” Kalen’s newest levy decree sits on a stack of papers, crumpled in a tight ball. 

Her words cut sharp, precise. “And tyrants don’t just give up their power.” She’s not saying it, but. This is the calm before the storm, the silence between the claps.

Magnus takes a deep breath. Nails speech to purpose. “That means rebellion.”

“Yes.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. Her grip tightens, and she traces her thumb across the hills of his knuckles, the fine bones of his hand. He’s always been hers; she could mold him like clay, but at least the choices are his. “So. Yes, no, maybe?”

The first paper in the stack is the blueprint for their wedding gazebo.

Some futures are worth building.

“Yes.”

. . .

Julia grins up at him, beautiful and radiant under the protective shade of the gazebo. She outshines the fading bruise under her jaw, and Magnus knows there are more scars hidden beneath her wedding gown. He has his own share of souvenirs from the rebellion, but they’d each be even more marked if they hadn’t been watching each other’s backs in that final battle.

“Do you, Magnus Burnsides, take this woman, Julia Waxmen, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor and obey, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?” the cleric asks.

Magnus’ vision swims in tears, and he chokes back a gargled _snrk_ as Julia mouths, ‘yes, no, maybe?’ at him over her bouquet of wildflowers.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he manages.

“Do you, Julia Waxmen, take this man, Magnus Burnsides, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, for as long as you both shall live?”

“Yes, I do,” she says.

They kiss. She tastes of honey and beeswax, her mouth soft beneath his and breath mingling. Then she twists her fist into the front of his jacket, tugging him closer. Laughter rings around them, but he can’t even be embarrassed, not when he loves this woman, wants this woman, and she’s claiming her own love bright and clear.

. . .

“Maybe I should eat more garlic? Or walnuts! I’ve heard walnuts are good for sperm count. Or green leafy veg, and it’s probably good for the baby, when—”

“Oh _gods_ , Magnus,” Julia Burnsides, née Waxmen, groans. She rolls over in bed, swatting him with a pillow. “ _Yes_ , I’d like a baby too, but it’s not even been a _month_.”

Magnus takes the hit square in the jaw, sputtering around a mouthful of feathers. “But what if—”

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” Julia says patiently. He can practically count the words she’s holding, clear as knots on a burl. “If you keep working yourself into a tizzy every time we have sex, you’re gonna give yourself erectile dysfunction.” She holds out her hand, palm up towards the dresser, and he passes her sleep bonnet.

He gnaws his lower lip as she tucks her hair in place. Finally, he says, “But if I _force_ myself to relax, then I’m not relaxing.”

“Sex with your wife should be _fun,_ not a chore. Look, we can have lots of oral, lots of cuddling, I can peg you… just because we want a baby doesn’t mean we’re gonna stop everything else we like.” She laughs, fluffing her pillow and wriggling back. “Heck, maybe you should go meet someone nice, have sex, come back to me with a clear head.”

“I don’t _want_ to cheat on my wife with another woman,” he says doggedly.

She cocks an eyebrow. “Okay, two things. One, it’s not cheating if I’m okay with it, it’s… well, an open relationship. Maybe poly, if you want some kind of relationship besides fuckbuddies. And two…” She takes a deep breath. “Does that mean you’d feel more comfortable if it wasn’t another woman?”

It takes him a few long moments to process that, as Julia fluffs her second and third pillows. She’s always liked sleeping high, and he likes looking up at her when he lies flat beside her.

“So if I… were to date a man, you’d be okay with that?” he asks. Magnus has even less experience with men than women, and counts himself lucky he’d ever managed to stumble-tongue his way into courting Julia.

“Hon, I just want you to be happy.”

“...Would you like to date someone too?”

“Maybe.” She laughs, low and sweet. “We don’t have to decide right away. We can always talk more after you come back from the showcase.”

. . .

_Years later, after the miles and roads and levels and all the things that come with futures and family and learning the perils of forever miring yourself in the literally worst day of your life..._

“Looking good, Magnus. Looking good,” Avi says admiringly, squeezing Magnus’ bicep.

Magnus flexes, cheeks warm. At least he can pretend it was from Avi’s brandy. He can feel the individual curl of Avi’s fingers across his skin, the way Avi’s thumb presses the hollow of his arm.

“The secret’s swinging a battle ax around every day,” Magnus jokes, or tries to joke. The words end up gruff against his teeth, tangled in a haze of liquor.

“Can’t argue with results. Beats lifting weights.”

Magnus thinks maybe, just maybe, this is a kind of courtship too— and he can’t find flowers on the moon, and he doesn’t have time to make a rocking chair before their next mission, and he’d just _die_ (for the thirty-third time, apparently) if he gave Avi a ‘yes, no, maybe’ list, so maybe that just means he has to figure out some new way of trying.

Julia would want him to be happy.

Avi takes a deep breath. “Say, uh— if you’re not busy tomorrow, maybe we could go to the Chug N Squeeze? If you want?”

Magnus’ brain stutters, but thankfully his mouth remembers the script.

“Yes!”


End file.
